Gospel Story Finder

When Darron Moller and his family moved to a new ward in New Zealand, Darron was assigned a young man named Scott, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, as his home teaching companion.
“I didn’t know who Scott was, and when I asked, I was told, ‘Just look for someone taller than you.’ I soon found him,” Darron remembers.
Scott, 15, is a counselor in his teachers quorum presidency, and like Nephi, one of his heroes in the Book of Mormon, Scott is large in stature. He also has Nephi’s determination to follow the Lord’s commandments.
“At school I listen to people in my class congratulating each other about doing crazy things, and I just think, ‘I’m so glad I don’t do that,’” Scott says. “Ever since I was small it’s been in my mind that those things are wrong, and knowing the consequences makes it easier not to do wrong things.”
As a member of the teachers quorum, which has the responsibility to prepare the sacrament, Scott was faced with an unfortunate situation one Sunday: there weren’t enough sacrament cups for his large ward.
“I felt bad—feeling that we hadn’t fulfilled our duty,” Scott says. “We decided that the teachers had to be more organized, and now our quorum presidency meets the hour before sacrament meeting for our presidency meeting to make sure everything is in order for the sacrament and to prepare for the next few weeks. I like the order in the Church. When there is order, you don’t have to worry.”
As his home teaching companion, Darron has found that Scott adds a new dimension to his calling. “I resolved to be 100 percent in visiting our families, and Scott definitely makes that possible. He calls me to make sure I’ve made the appointments. And when he taught the lesson the first time, he asked me to go early so I could hear what he’d prepared. Even the little children we taught listened to him.”
And how does Scott feel about being a home teacher? “I like going home teaching with Brother Moller. If it were two teachers going together, we just wouldn’t know as much. But by having someone older than me, I get to hear different viewpoints from different age groups. Sometimes it’s scary giving a lesson to just a few people—you don’t know how you’re going to be received. But it feels good when they listen.”

Orla Rode Nielsen, baptized in 1956, served as branch president twice in Århus before that unit became a ward. Kirsten Bokhonko, another longtime member, says that Brother Nielsen and his wife, Esther (now deceased), are the kind of people who made it a habit to do good for others quietly, in the background. When the Nielsens discovered a love of family history, they devoted much of their own free time to helping more than 30 other members compile their family history. Brother Nielsen still goes to the city archives almost every day to gather information. “I love it. When you get started, you can’t stop.” From the time he joined the Church, he has felt that way about the gospel. On the day he was baptized, he sang all the way home for happiness. “Since my baptism I have never doubted.”

Repentance produces changes in attitudes and behavior, but simply changing attitudes and behavior is not repentance.
During my service as the president of Brigham Young University–Idaho, I talked one Sunday afternoon with a campus bishop. Without disclosing the identity of the individual, he explained to me that he had received a confession from a young person who made the following statement: “Bishop, I violated the law of chastity Friday night. Talking with you is the last thing on my list of things to do to repent. Now that I have confessed, I feel great.”
Recognizing and forsaking sin; feeling remorse and making restitution for sin; and confessing sins to God and, when needed, to our priesthood leaders are all necessary and important elements in the repentance process. However, these essential steps do not constitute a mere behavioral checklist we can mechanically, quickly, and casually complete. If we do these things and fail to recognize and depend upon the Redeemer and His atoning sacrifice, then even our best efforts are in vain.

A few years ago my father had a serious operation and spent several weeks in the hospital. This was during the winter months. My sons and I had made several trips down to my parents’ home to keep the snow cleared from the driveway and walk, but one day while I was working and my sons were in school, we had a very heavy snowfall. My mother was trying to clear the walks when a young university student came by, laid his books down, gently took the shovel from her, and cleared all the walks and driveway. As my mother thanked him he said, “That’s all right. I am away from home going to school. Maybe someone else’s son will be there to help my mother.”
As my mother told me how this young man had helped her, I remembered the words from my childhood: “God bless you, my son. I pray that some young man will be there to help your mother.”
And he was.

Kate scooped creamy mashed potatoes onto her plate. She couldn’t help but grin. She loved Thanksgiving, and there was a lot to be thankful for. Soon she’d get to eat Grandma’s famous apple pie. Plus, her aunts, uncles, and cousins were all crowded around the table for dinner, and she loved being with her family!
But the best part of Thanksgiving was at the end of the day.
“Gather around!” Grandma said once dinner was over. She handed out an envelope to each family.
Kate opened it and saw money inside.
“Who remembers what we do with the money?” Grandpa asked.
Kate raised her hand. “We use it to help someone else for Christmas!”
“That’s right,” Grandma said. “I hope you find wonderful ways to help.”
When they got home, Kate and her family talked about how they could use their money this year. They could buy a Christmas tree for a neighbor. Or help another family buy presents. Then Kate had an idea! Once when she had to stay in the hospital, someone had given her a warm, fuzzy blanket. Maybe her family could make blankets for hospital patients! Kate’s sisters, Hailey and Rachel, loved her idea.
A few days later, Mom took the family shopping for supplies. They had fun picking out fabric together.
“I like this one,” Hailey said. She held up some orange fleece with flowers.
“I do too,” Mom said. “And we have enough money for two more.”
Rachel pointed to some fabric with lions and tigers on it. “This would be purrrfect for lion around!”
Kate laughed. Her sister was so goofy. Then Kate picked up a pattern with bright colors and shapes. It reminded her of the blanket she had gotten in the hospital.
Mom and the girls spent the rest of the day at home, cutting and tying the soft fleece into blankets. It was so much fun!
Just before Christmas, Kate’s whole family brought the blankets to the children’s hospital where Kate had stayed. As they walked in, Kate recognized the bright colored walls and the sounds of beeping machines. It was fun to see the kids smile when they got their blankets.
On Christmas Eve, Kate’s family gathered at Grandpa and Grandma’s house again. She was excited to hear what her cousins had done with their Thanksgiving money. After dinner, each family talked about their holiday service adventure. One family bought gifts to donate to a charity. Another family gave their money to help a neighbor. Kate’s family told about the blankets.
At the end of the night, Kate’s heart felt as warm and fuzzy as fluffy fleece. Thanksgiving had been about thanks and giving, and that felt really good.

I joined the Church when I was in high school and was the only member in my family. I had a difficult time making the transition to life in the Church, finding many of the activities and callings unfamiliar. So when I was asked to be a visiting teacher for the first time during my second year in college, I struggled to understand exactly what that meant. My companion was a faithful young mother, Sister Bray (names have been changed), and it was easy for me to let her set the appointments, direct our visits, and care for our sisters. One sister, in particular, proved more challenging than the rest. Cassie was less active, living with her boyfriend, and expecting their first child. She always seemed sad or troubled.
One Sunday the branch presidency asked us to make sure we invited everyone on our visiting teaching routes to a missionary fireside that evening. “No problem,” I thought. “Sister Bray will call Cassie.” I scanned the chapel. Sister Bray was out of town that Sunday and would not be making any calls.
When I reached my apartment after church, I felt the tugging of the Spirit: “Call Cassie.” I stoutly refused. Surely she wouldn’t come even if I did call. A second time the Spirit prompted strongly: “Call Cassie!” Again I refused. Finally the Spirit was impossible to ignore, and I grudgingly made the call—only to reach Cassie’s answering machine. “See,” I thought, “I knew it wouldn’t do any good.” I left a message telling Cassie and her boyfriend, Will, that there would be a fireside that evening and we’d love to see them there.
At the fireside I noticed that although many were in attendance, Cassie and Will were not among them. “I knew they wouldn’t come,” I thought, somewhat smugly. With 10 minutes left in the fireside, I was quite surprised to see Cassie and Will enter the chapel. The missionaries stood up quietly and left with them. “How about that!” I said to myself.
Christmas break came soon after that, and I attended my home ward for the holidays. A month later when I returned to my college ward, one of the members excitedly approached me and asked if I would be at the baptism that evening. “Of course,” I said, “but who is getting baptized?” The sister answered, “Will, Cassie’s husband.” Husband? I went to look for Cassie as quickly as I could.
When I found Cassie and Will, I congratulated them on their marriage and Will’s baptism and asked how it had all come about. “Remember that fireside you invited us to attend?” Cassie answered. “We got there late, so the elders took us into another room and showed us a video. Will liked it so much he asked to hear the discussions. We were married, and today Will is getting baptized.” I was humbled and ashamed of myself and yet in total awe of Heavenly Father’s love for each of His children.
But this isn’t the end of the story. Not long ago I had the opportunity to return to my college ward after being away for six years. I was thrilled to see many familiar faces and to introduce my old friends to my husband and two children.
As I passed through the foyer, I saw someone I thought I knew but who looked different somehow. “Don’t I know you?” I said. “Yes, I’m Cassie. You were my visiting teacher. You remember Will, don’t you?” She pointed to the man standing to her left, then called to two children in the hallway. “And these are our two children.” She looked happy, peaceful, and sure of herself. She said she was serving in the Primary presidency. “Have you had a chance to go to the temple?” I inquired. “Which one?” she asked with a smile. “Chicago? Detroit? Nauvoo? We’ve been to all of them.”
This encounter once again reminded me “that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6)—even a small thing like a phone call.

John Wooden was perhaps the greatest college basketball coach in the history of the game. He had four full undefeated seasons. His teams won 10 national championships. At one point, he had a streak of 88 consecutive wins.
One of the first things Coach Wooden drilled into his players was something his father had taught him when he was a boy growing up on a farm. “Don’t worry much about trying to be better than someone else,” his father said. “Learn from others, yes. But don’t just try to be better than they are. You have no control over that. Instead try, and try very hard, to be the best that you can be. That you have control over.”

A Young Women teacher had a blind girl in her class whose participation was limited because she could not study in the usual way. The teacher would go to the girl’s home and read out loud while the girl translated her Personal Progress book into braille. The work took two years. The teacher also encouraged the other girls in the class to help. Under her direction, they went to the blind girl’s home and read to her from the manual until it was translated into braille.
The Master’s touch through that teacher reached out and blessed not only this girl but many others who are blind, because the braille translation was made available at the general offices of the Young Women organization.

About 15 years ago my doctor told me that I had to make a lifestyle change: “Start being more active, or you won’t live very long,” he told me. I took his warning seriously. I decided to start running.
To make this lifestyle change successful, I needed to keep the long view in mind because if I only had the short view, I wasn’t going to get very far.
My long view is a recurring goal to run one marathon each year. This goal helps me get up and run every day because I know that on one certain day next year, I’m going to have to run 26.2 miles (42.2 kilometers). I stay disciplined to train and meet my short-term goals each week because I know they’re getting me ready for race day.
Sometimes there are things that try and stop me, like the weather. Maybe it’s too hot or too cold outside, or maybe it’s raining. So I have to run inside on the treadmill, even though I significantly prefer to run on the street. Injuries also try and stop me. Maybe I didn’t stretch properly before my run, so I tweak my hamstring. Or maybe it’s not necessarily my fault that I got injured. But no matter how it happens, I can’t give up because I know I’m going to be running a marathon next year. So I make alterations to my training. I recover and get back out running.
Running has taught me a lot about the gospel. We all have a long-term gospel goal to endure to the end and achieve exaltation. But we set short-term goals like taking the sacrament at church each week that help us get there. We get spiritually injured when we make mistakes. But we don’t give up. We repent, and we get back out there. The only way we can achieve our long-term goal is by making little changes all along the way to help us stay on track.
For over a decade, I worked as the senior vice president for Walmart in Brazil. My family was financially stable, I enjoyed my job, and life was good. But the job was demanding. It required me to travel a lot, which was interfering with our family and with my Church service. After 11 or 12 years, it was becoming too much.
My wife and I counseled together and proposed that I leave this job. We talked it through with our children, and together we said, “It’s time for us to make a change.”
When I quit, I plummeted from senior vice president to unemployed. It took nearly a year to find and accept another job. When I finally took a position with a small real estate company in the United States, I felt good about it. This job would let me dedicate more time to the things that really mattered.
But other people told me I was crazy. Why leave a stable job for a real estate company no one has even heard of? And move halfway across the world to the United States?
They were right that this was a huge change we were choosing to make. But they were wrong that it was a poor choice.
It took a lot of faith for us to switch jobs and move to a new country, but the Lord took care of us. And I had more time to fulfill my responsibilities as a husband, father, and ward member.
I believe change is mandatory for achieving our potential. We will never become what Heavenly Father wants us to become if we’re stationary in our lives. And we become like Him as we make deliberate changes in faith.
Another big change that happened in my family was when my youngest brother died in a car accident. We didn’t choose or want that for him or for us, and it’s still painful, even after 10 years. Forced change is never easy.
But the changes we don’t choose can also become opportunities to build our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It’s easy to stay faithful when things are going our way. But can we keep the faith and keep going when the changes don’t fall in our favor?
Divorce, infertility, unemployment, illness, and other painful experiences like these are not experiences we hope and plan for. They can make us feel like life is happening outside of our control. But that’s not entirely true—amid your unsolicited circumstances, there are still things you can control. You can set small goals, even just the goal to get through one more day. You can do it! You can bear all things with patience! (see Alma 38:4).
Joseph of Egypt is a perfect example of this. His life was full of forced change—he lost his freedom twice! (Once when his brothers sold him into slavery, and again when Potiphar put him in jail.) But Joseph didn’t break down because his circumstances were undesirable or unplanned for. He adapted and grew through his experiences. And in the end, he saved his family and an entire nation. The Lord was molding him and preparing him the entire way (see Genesis 37–46).
It’s hard to be patient when forced change upsets your plan, but remember that the long-term goal is to achieve exaltation. Heavenly Father knows what we need to get there: “Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels; wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected” (Doctrine and Covenants 67:13).
Heavenly Father loves you and wants you to succeed. He wants you to be happy. And He’s laid out a plan for you to achieve both of those things.
When I see mortality for what it’s meant to be—training—the changes in my life become more purposeful. Change helps me achieve my long-term goal, which is to become like my Savior Jesus Christ. I know Heavenly Father shares the same long-term goal for me and for all His children. Just like my doctor knew I needed to change something for the sake of my health, God clearly sees the changes we need to make to become like Him. He supports us and supplies resources like the scriptures, a local congregation, and a living prophet to help us in our quest to change for the better.
On the hardest days—those days when it’s hard to get out of bed and put on your running shoes, when you know you need to repent, or when you are struggling with some other unexpected change—we remind ourselves of God’s infinite love and of His desire for us to be even happier than we are right now.
That reminder gives us the strength to make the changes the Spirit prompts us to make. And it helps us trust that the unexpected changes we’re forced to make are part of His plan for our greatest happiness.

One way we can share our testimony is to have a nativity in our home so we can spark conversations about the Lord’s birth. Another way is to relate stories like that of John Weightman in The Mansion.

John Weightman was a successful man whose charities brought him attention and renown. One evening, after perusing a pile of newspaper clippings praising him for his generosity, he picked up his Bible. Soon he fell asleep after reading the Savior’s words: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal” (Matthew 6:19).

As he slept, John found himself in “the heavenly city,” traveling with others as they received their mansions. When the Keeper of the Gate stopped in front of a tiny hut built of cast-off materials, he said to John, “This is your mansion.”

John protested, listing his many public contributions.

“Were not all these carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit?” asked the Keeper of the Gate. “You have had your reward for them. Would you be paid twice?”1

During this Christmas season, I hope each of us has the opportunity to give anonymously.

Maybe this move won’t be so bad after all, Tanya thought as she watched Josh Tartello walk to the front of her fourth period creative writing class.
It was Tanya’s first day at Washington High, but she’d already met Josh in early-morning seminary. It was a small class—only seven kids strong, and they represented the entire LDS population at Washington. The interesting thing was that they all seemed to stand out in something. The Mormons were well known. Let’s see, there was the president of the jazz band, the captain of the swim team, the school newspaper editor—she couldn’t remember them all. But there was no way she could forget Josh, the junior class president with curly black hair and crystal blue eyes to die for.
What luck to come across him in creative writing—especially since it was a subject she felt confident in. She’d feel relaxed with the subject matter, and maybe be more relaxed about getting to know Josh. Was that a smile he flashed at her as he began to read his most recent fiction composition?
“Hey, Matt, where’d he come from?” Josh began, reading the first line from his story. Beginning with an interesting question—not a bad lead, Tanya thought, as she settled down to listen to the rest. The story was set around a basketball game and involved two guys—one with a bad mouth, and one with a bad attitude. They ended up resolving their problems. It was a good story, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Had she heard it before somewhere?
Just as the teacher congratulated Josh, Tanya’s stomach lurched. She realized where she’d seen the story. It was the fiction piece from the New Era a couple of months back. She was almost sure. Before she jumped to any conclusions though, she would go home and check it. After all, there was the remote possibility she was imagining things.
“Hey, Mom, do you know where the box with all the old Church magazines is?” Tanya called as she walked into the living room of their new apartment. There were boxes stacked everywhere, and her mom was kneeling over one of them, looking exasperated.
“I can’t even find my purse, and you want to know where the Church magazines are?” she asked incredulously. “Looks like you’re going to have to find them on your own, and if you come across my purse, let me know. Otherwise I don’t know what we’ll do for dinner tonight.”
Tanya realized that helping her mother unpack all those cartons was probably a little more important at the moment than checking to see if Josh had copied his paper. In a way, Tanya didn’t want to know. Mom had stayed home from work that day to try to get things organized, so Tanya decided to dig in and help.
With a new school, a new ward, and a new apartment to get used to, checking on Josh’s story soon dropped to the bottom of Tanya’s priority list. Besides, Josh was being friendly to her and had introduced her to all his friends. She almost forgot about the plagiarism issue entirely—until it was Josh’s turn to read another paper in front of the class.
“There they were again. Those ten white pins—staring straight at me,” he began.
This time there was no doubt in her mind. Tanya remembered well that story about bowling. She’d identified with it when she read it in the New Era, because she’d had a similar experience. Now she was positive Josh was lifting his stories from the New Era. What should she do?
She was too agitated to let it drop this time. She waited for him at the door of the classroom and walked into the hall with him. “Uh, Josh,” she began, not really knowing what direction she would take. “Your story—it was good, but it sounded kinda familiar.”
“I had a feeling you’d catch on to what I was doing,” Josh said, looking very apologetic. “There are only seven other people in this school who read the New Era, and it’s just my luck to have one of them in my class. I know it looks bad, but let me explain. Buy you lunch?” he asked.
How could Tanya resist? As they made their way to the cafeteria, Josh tried to explain.
“It’s not like I lifted it directly,” he said. “I took out all the parts that talked about the Church so it wouldn’t confuse Ms. Dougherty. She doesn’t know anything about the Church, and I didn’t want to have to explain.”
“She’d get a pretty bad impression of the Church if you had to explain that one of her star LDS students was plagiarizing.”
“Exactly!” Josh cried. “Well, not exactly. I don’t really feel like I stole it, since I did change it a little bit. Besides, you know the LDS kids are pretty well respected at this school. How would we look if one of us was caught cheating? You know the story would be all over the campus in five minutes.”
By that time they’d made their way to the cafeteria line and students were crowding everywhere. By mutual understanding, they dropped the conversation for a while as they chose their lunches. Tanya really wasn’t hungry, so all she took was yogurt and corn chips. She felt strange about letting Josh pay.
As Josh carried their tray to a table in the corner by a window, Tanya said, “You know, in the time it took you to copy those stories, you probably could have come up with something pretty good of your own.”
“You might be right,” Josh agreed. “But I just didn’t have the mental energy. Look, with all the things I have to do for church, for seminary, for student council, for the soccer team, for my family—I’ve got to coast somewhere. I need a good grade in this class. For my sake, and for the sake of the LDS reputation at this school, couldn’t you please just let it drop for now?” Josh was almost pleading.
And Tanya was almost taking it in—almost. What bothered her was the fact that Josh had worked long and hard to come up with every reason imaginable to justify what he was doing and to keep the truth from getting out. At this point, he seemed more worried about getting caught than about being honest.
“What’s the worst that could happen to you if you tell Ms. Dougherty you copied those stories?” Tanya asked. “Maybe she’d be so happy with your honesty that she’d let you do those assignments over again.”
“You’re dreaming,” Josh replied. “I’d probably get an F in the class, which would blow my whole GPA, I’d get suspended for a couple of days, and I’d get kicked off student council and the soccer team. That would look great on my record. I’d probably never get into college.”
“You feel good about cheating to get into college?”
“C’mon, everyone cheats once they get there. You can hire people to write your papers for you. Fraternities have files of tests and papers you can use any time. Borrowing ideas from the New Era is small-time stuff compared to that.”
“I guess everyone starts somewhere,” Tanya said quietly, more to herself than to Josh. She’d finished her yogurt but hadn’t touched her chips. She stood up.
“So what are you going to do?” Josh asked, looking up at her with those crystal blue eyes to die for.
“I’m going to start doing what’s best for everyone,” she replied, as she slowly walked away.

One simple yet profound experience with the Prophet and his family made a deep impact on young Benjamin Johnson. One Sunday morning he was sitting with Joseph in private conversation when two of Joseph and Emma’s children came into the room—“all so nice, bright and sweet, and calling to them my attention, [Joseph] said, ‘Benjamin, look at these children, how could I help loving their mother.’”
“To me,” Brother Johnson wrote, Emma “appeared the queen of his heart and of his home” (Johnson Letter, page 4).

Fifteen years ago, there was a quorum of priests in the Salt Lake Valley which consisted of eight members who all attended the same high school. In spite of a certain sense of unity among them, each was different—from very different family circumstances, with his own set of problems, worries, challenges, and dreams. And while they were friends and seemed to enjoy the society of their quorum, there was something lacking that would unify and bond them together.
Living within the ward boundaries at the time was a young man who was not a member of the Church. He was their age, attended their school, and was a star athlete. He was popular and well respected and enjoyed the praise and admiration that came with that kind of popularity. And although he knew and was on friendly terms with each of the priests in the quorum, he had a different set of friends, traveled in another social circle, and hung out with a different crowd.
For some weeks, this young man had been discussed in the quorum meetings in terms of his success in sports and his relative popularity at school. He was a topic of discussion at some point in almost every quorum meeting. On one such Sunday, the bishop, meeting with the quorum in his role as quorum president, suggested that they consider teaching and baptizing this popular young friend of theirs. The quorum members at first laughed at the suggestion, expressing their beliefs that this young man would never join the Church. The bishop’s encouragement was persistent over several weeks, and, finally, the group agreed that they would invite this young man to one or two of their activities. To their surprise, he agreed.
Gradually, one by one, each member of the quorum had an influence on him. He began to attend activities regularly and even came to Sunday meetings. Finally, the quorum leaders approached him about meeting with the missionaries and hearing the discussions. He agreed and received permission from his family.
At first, they took turns visiting him with the missionaries. One or two of them would accompany the elders to his home, the meetinghouse, or some other teaching location. They began to sit together at the games where their friend played, and a spirit of purpose, unity, and strength began to grow among them. They began to change in ways that everyone in the ward noticed. Their parents commented. The bishopric saw it. Other ward members mentioned it, and they themselves felt the changes that were taking place in their lives.
Finally the day of baptism came. They were all there—sitting on the front row and watching intently as one of the full-time missionaries escorted their friend into the baptismal waters. Somehow, it wouldn’t have been fair for any one of them to perform the baptism. They had all become so close and so much a team, that they agreed the elders should perform the ordinance.
Time has passed. Years have flown by. Those young men have served missions, married in the temple, become husbands and fathers, and moved away from the old ward. But every one of them remembers those days of unity, of brotherhood, of friendship, and of the joy of sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ with their friend. No matter what happens to that little group, their lives were changed forever that year. They tasted of true quorum unity and strength.

In my ward our visiting teaching was scarce and temple attendance was very low. As the visiting teaching leader and a temple worker, I prayed that this could change. I used Elder Richard G. Scott’s conference talk, “Temple Worship: The Source of Strength and Power in Times of Need” (Liahona, May 2009, 43) to speak in both sacrament meeting and in Relief Society. The ward members were touched. Visiting teaching is now almost at 100 percent, and many are attending the temple and putting into practice the steps Elder Scott outlined in his message. A thousand thanks to Elder Scott for his beautiful message and to you for the Liahona.
Ana Meza de Eulogio, Peru

When I was in high school, I thought I wasn’t as valuable a disciple of Jesus Christ because I struggled with talking to people. I wasn’t just introverted—I was severely shy! I was so shy I had a difficult time making friends and being my true self around my classmates at school and at church.
Because of that, I shied away from callings in Young Women and felt like I couldn’t be as spiritual as my peers who were a lot more talkative and social than I was.
So when I graduated from high school and decided to serve a mission, I was terrified!
I felt like God wanted me to serve, but my first thought was, “Why does God want someone like me to serve? I can’t talk to people!”
But as scared as I was, I decided to trust God and serve a mission anyway.
As I served, things were difficult at first, but as I continued to try (and to let myself fail), I found that the Lord strengthened me to do the work He asked me to do.
In the Book of Mormon the Lord says: “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
On my mission I realized that Jesus Christ could do wonderful things with me not because of my strength but because of His. And I also realized that His strength didn’t come to me just because I was a missionary, but it was also something that I could have relied on in high school.
The wonderful thing about Jesus Christ is that we don’t need degrees or extensive résumés to serve in His kingdom and be strong disciples! If we are humble and sincere in our desires to serve, Jesus Christ will take us exactly as we are, where we are, and give us the necessary help and strength to serve Him.

A short time after returning from his mission, Elder Alvarado stopped by the local Church distribution center in Puerto Rico to pick up a few items. The employee who assisted him was Cari Lu Rios, a fellow Ponce resident. They knew each other vaguely from past Church activities.
The young returned missionary was immediately smitten. “When I looked into her eyes, I knew she would be my wife.”
The feeling was not mutual, said Sister Alvarado, laughing—at least not initially.
But they had fun with one another. Soon they were spending most of their time together and realized they had become a couple. They married in the Washington D.C. Temple six days before Christmas in 1992.

I love the Friend magazine stories because I love to learn more about the gospel and I love reading about all the kinds of things children do. A month after I read an article by Elder Quentin L. Cook called “How Can I Be a Missionary Now?” (April 2010), I told my schoolteacher about the temple. She didn’t know what a temple was. The next day, I brought her a picture of it and told her it is a place where families can be sealed together forever. A couple of weeks later, I got to see Elder Cook at our stake conference. I like being a missionary!

The hot sun beat down on Bhutto’s shoulders as he crossed a dry riverbed. He found his father on the other side, sitting beneath a baobab tree, making a bow to be used for hunting. Without saying a word, Bhutto knelt by his father’s side and watched him work. First his father poured sand over a large leaf. Then he wrapped the leaf around the bow and rubbed it up and down. Slowly the rough wooden surface of the bow became smoother.
“It is a hot day for one so young to be walking about,” said Bhutto’s father.
“I am not so young,” Bhutto quickly answered. “I am almost twelve years old.”
“Ah.” His father smiled. “So you are. But why have you come looking for me, Bhutto?”
Bhutto took a deep breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I have come to ask you if I may begin hunting alone.”
Bhutto’s father stopped working and looked at Bhutto. “You are a good hunter. You have worked hard to learn how to hunt. Now you must learn when to hunt.”
“And how will I learn this?”
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto sat very still and listened to the wind. It howled like a lonely animal at night.
“Here,” said Bhutto’s father, handing him the bow. “I was making this for you.”
Bhutto took the bow from his father and ran his fingers up and down the wood. He turned it over and pulled the string. “Oh, Father, it is a wonderful gift! I shall take very good care of it!”
“And my story? Did you learn anything from it?”
Bhutto was quiet for a long time. He thought about the Mazumbas. He thought about the Great Beasts and how beautiful they must have been. “I have learned to try to choose wisely about when to put an arrow in my bow and to be certain I need what I kill. For every time I take something from the earth, it can never be quite the same again.”
Bhutto’s father looked at him and smiled. “And now,” he said, “you are ready to hunt alone.”

Kim Frantz and her parents, of Hayden, Idaho, did “missionary work” of a different sort on their last “vacation.” They helped at Mother Teresa’s adoption center in Calcutta, India, feeding, diapering, and playing with the children there. They also helped LDS missionaries teach English lessons to street children.
“It’s sort of a break for those kids to come learn English,” says Kim. “After they’re done, they go back out to the streets again.”
The highlight of the trip, Kim says, was meeting Mother Teresa herself.
“She’s such a small little lady, and she’s working to make simple changes for the people. I won’t ever forget her,” says Kim.

It was a hot summer day and the neighborhood boys were preparing to engage in their favorite pastime, shooting their BB guns. On the fences surrounding the fields around our neighborhood, many a tin can had met its demise as a sharp-shooting rooster-tailed boy drew aim and gently squeezed the trigger of his Daisy Red-Ryder lever-action BB gun. This day would be like many others as the boys embarked on their excursion.
Being the only five-year-old boy in the neighborhood left me with no one to play with most of the time. I needed to belong, so I would often tag along with my older brother and his friends despite their insistent pleas for me to return home. Again, this day would be no exception. Time after time I hunted them down, only to have them try to ditch me again.
As their obvious attempts to relieve themselves of my presence failed, they turned to more cunning tactics. My brother approached me. I should have known by the gleam in his eye that deception was in the wings. “Dane,” he said manipulatively, “if you will go home and make us all a peanut butter and honey sandwich, we will let you shoot our guns.” My heart leaped at the prospect of firing one of those choice weapons. I raced home. My legs had never known such speed.
At home, I noticed that my mom had company and that she wouldn’t be able to make the sandwiches for me. Too bad, I thought to myself. Another obstacle had been placed in my pathway. But I would overcome. I would not be denied the opportunity to master the Red-Ryder.
While sloppily spreading peanut butter on the tearing bread, I began to be prodded by my conscience. My mother’s words of warning echoed through my mind. “Dane, you’re too small to get the bucket of honey from the top shelf by yourself.”
As I finished with the peanut butter and dropped the sticky knife on the carpeted floor, I ignored my conscience and headed for the shelf. Opening the door and looking up, I saw the two-gallon bucket of honey looming overhead just within reach of my fingers. Reaching up and inching the bucket toward the front of the shelf, I was not at all prepared for what happened next. As the honey arrived at the edge of the shelf, the bottom of the bucket caught on the ridge at the front of the shelf, became upended, and came hurtling down, upside down, onto my head.
My first thought was, What should I do about the mess? The situation, however, quickly got serious as the sticky substance covered my eyes, leaving me unable to see. The vacuum effect the bucket had on my head made it impossible to remove. I strained and struggled, but to no avail. The honey descended, covering my mouth and nose, making breathing very difficult. Panic stricken, I staggered into the living room. Blowing honey bubbles out my nose and mouth in an effort to breathe and trying to peer through the haze that covered my eyes, I saw my mother and her friend laughing hysterically.
My mother finally gathered herself enough to show the necessary compassion. As she shoved my sticky, honey-covered head under the bathtub faucet, she said something I have never forgotten. “If you are going to do things you know you shouldn’t,” she said, “you must face the consequences that accompany your actions.”
While humorous, this experience has had a very profound effect on me, helping me realize the importance of obedience. Fortunately for us, valuable lessons can sometimes be learned through harmless incidents. Learning obedience through a childhood mishap has benefited me greatly.